


Making Bail (and Other Fun for the Whole Family)

by Ijustwannaread



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Families Who Do Crime Together Stay Together, Family Feels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey and Carl do Crime Together, Post-Season 10, Sibling Bonding, fuck you terry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ijustwannaread/pseuds/Ijustwannaread
Summary: Fiona returns home in the wake of Debbie's arrest, Mickey steps up for the first time as a member of the Gallagher family, and crime may or may not be committed in the process.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 14
Kudos: 337





	Making Bail (and Other Fun for the Whole Family)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twinfinite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinfinite/gifts).



By the time Fiona pulls off the familiar exit to the Southside, her borrowed car is starting to make a threatening rattle and two more warning lights have blinked on. It’s almost midnight, and the orange-toned streetlights are illuminating the grey slush in the ugliest way. There are flurries of snow starting to come down in earnest. After months of blue skies and balmy days, Chicago actually looks a bit like hell on earth. 

Fiona cranks the heat higher, studiously ignoring the fact that it immediately smells like someone put a beach ball in a toaster. This car is a disaster, but she’s still going to owe her friend Jade big time for lending it to her on such short notice. Provided that it survives a round trip, or that Fiona doesn’t get sucked back into the Gallagher vortex permanently. 

Her heart does a sick little flip, somewhere between yearning and dread, when she sees the familiar rusty fence and rotting steps of her childhood home. She coasts into a park behind a sporty little red car she doesn’t recognize. There is a dim light shining through the front window. Fiona takes a deep breath, pictures Liam’s smile, and opens the car door. 

The house smells like cigarettes and what she can only guess is burnt lasagna. Across the house, she spots the unmistakable figures of her family sitting together around the kitchen table in the back of the house, speaking in hushed voices. 

Fiona unwinds the scarf from her neck, trying to figure out how to make her entrance when Ian perks up and spots her from across the way. 

“Holy shit,” he says, and his face breaks out into a grin. Fiona feels her resolve crumble, and tears prick at the corner of her eyes. 

Lip, sitting across from Ian, turns in his seat to see her. Carl leans over from the side and comes into view. Ian strides across the kitchen to meet her in the threshold and envelopes her in a hug. It’s their first proper hug in what feels like years, because rushed prison yard hugs absolutely do not count. Fiona bites the inside of her mouth and decides she will not cry.

By the time Ian releases her, Lip and Carl are waiting patiently for their turns. In the interest of time, she throws her arms over both of them at once. 

“Geez, Fi, we thought you weren’t going to make it until tomorrow,” Lip says, obviously trying to maintain a casual tone for her sake even though his eyes are shining a bit. Fiona chokes out a sad little laugh. 

“You know me, can’t miss a single minute of a Gallagher legal battle.” She gives Ian a side glance, and he gives her a smile in good nature and obviously holds back an eye roll. She sees his eyes flick to the side and she notices for the first time that Mickey is leaning against the door frame, quietly surveying the family reunion. Despite Ian’s various accounts of their rekindled prison relationship, she hasn’t laid eyes on Mickey in years. She’d almost expected a couple of neck tattoos, but he looks pretty much the same as she remembers. 

“Hey, Mickey,” she says, nodding in his direction, “Congrats on parole.” 

“Welcome back,” he replies, wryly raising his beer bottle in salute. He’s still got that cagey look about him, but it’s definitely softened a bit. 

“C’mon,” Ian beckons, and leads the way back into the kitchen. Carl roots around the fridge and pulls out a cold beer and presents it to Fiona. She resists ruffling his hair, but only barely. She hasn’t been gone for even a year yet, but all of her brothers look endlessly more grown up, all in different ways. She wonders if it’s because the testosterone ratio in the house went up since she left, but they all seem to have noticeably filled out. She knows Ian worked out like crazy in prison, but she doesn’t know how to explain how Lip managed to get those upper arms as a new father and reformed alcoholic. 

“Where are Liam and Franny?” Fiona asks, after taking a long sip of her drink. “Asleep upstairs,” Lip replies. “Freddie is with his mom in the new place,” he adds, and Fiona wants to kick herself. She’s met the baby a few times over Facetime, but she’s still having a hard time picturing Lip as a dad. From what Ian and Carl have relayed, Lip’s baby mama is the type of delight Fiona might better face after a good night’s sleep or some hard liquor. She had been half-hoping that someone would have broken out the vodka at this point, but she figures Lip doesn’t need to have that shit around right now. From what she’s heard, he’s been doing okay. She knows it must be fucking hard right now.

“Can’t wait to meet your kid,” Fiona smiles at Lip, but his return expression is unreadable. Fiona takes in a sharp breath and decides to get down to it. 

“So - Debbie. Statutory rape. Someone wanna try and explain this one to me?” Her brothers all look studiously anywhere but at her. Lip picks at a splinter in the table. Unsurprisingly, no one is jumping at the chance to rehash another one of Debbie’s aggressively poor life choices. 

“Okay, yeah, it’s Debbie so we don’t gotta get into the details here. How about bail?” 

“Five grand,” Carl supplies. “They also pinned her with resisting arrest.” 

“Of course they did,” Fiona sighs. “Any chance anyone at this table has any savings?” 

There is a chorus of negative grunts from around the room. 

“Just blew all we had on the wedding,” Ian says darkly. Fiona feels an electric jolt through her sternum when she hears the word wedding. She was half hoping that it wouldn’t come up so she wouldn’t have to face it. She decides to go with her first impulse, which is to throw a wild slap to Ian’s upper arm. 

“Right - you went and got married without me!” She calls out. 

“You got an invite!” He protests good naturedly, shaking off her mild outburst with ease. Fiona makes a guttural dismissive noise. 

“Yeah, like forty-eight hours ahead of time. You gotta give a girl warning before she can just move her ass halfway across the country!” They’d been over this before over the phone and then some, but she still wants to make a point of it here in front of her brother. He went and got married, dammit. 

“It was a total shitshow,” Mickey cuts in, but the starry-eyed look plastered over his face at the mention of his marriage completely underscores that claim. 

“Heard you pulled it off, though,” Fiona objects, looking between Ian and Mickey. They seem to be having a largely non-verbal conversation from opposite ends of the table. 

“That was all Debbie, actually. She really rallied everyone together that day,” Lip adds, pointedly. 

A heavy silence falls over the table.

Carl, thank god, takes the oppressive moment to retrieve another round of beers for the table, which everyone except for Lip accepts happily. It might be the hours on the road eating only stale granola bars and gritty coffee or just the sheer fatigue, but Fiona is already feeling a little warm and floaty from one drink. 

“You know, I don’t get why Debbie was even banging that rich bitch in the first place. She wasn’t even a good lay,” Carl announces out of nowhere. 

“God, Carl, are you seriously saying you slept with her, too?” Fiona is really wishing for a bottle of vodka now. 

“What the fuck, dude?” Lip pushes Carl over a bit in his chair for good measure. 

“What?” Carl protests. “At least when I did I wasn’t breaking the law or shit! I just don’t get why Debbie couldn’t keep it in her pants over that chick.”

“Yeah, like you haven’t done anything illegal because you couldn’t keep it in your pants over some batshit skank,” Lip shoots back. Fiona scrubs at her face and downs the last of her beer in one pull. 

“Take it easy, Lip,” Ian warns. “As someone who can honestly say I’ve never done anything, legal or illegal, in order to bang a chick, I’m going to call for a truce here.” 

Ian’s attempt for levity does actually bring down the tension. Lip actually snorts to himself out of the blue, and for a second Fiona thinks he might try to bring up any of the borderline-legal things Ian  _ has  _ done for love, after which she will be morally obligated to kick his ass. 

“Right, because the one time you did try hetero sex what did you say? It gave you PTSD?” Lip snickers. 

It takes Fiona a moment to process what Lip just said, but when she does, she can’t help but let out a strangled little laugh. 

“You had sex?” Fiona blurts. “With a woman? When?” Ian’s face instantly turns a handsome shade of red. Carl snickers. Ian shoots Lip a death glare, to which Lip just shrugs and shows no signs of remorse. 

“You finally popped your cherry?” Carl smirks. 

“Oh my god, weren’t we talking about Debbie? Who’s in jail? We can drop this now,” Ian hedges. 

“Here I was thinkin’ you were Gold Star, Gallagher,” Mickey pipes up. He scratches at his eyebrow and then crosses his arms expectantly. 

“Was it really that bad?” Fiona asks, despite herself. She half wants to take Ian’s side on this one, but the idea of him white-knuckling it through sleeping with a woman for whatever reason strikes her as so very sad that it’s funny. Ian locks eyes again with Mickey. Fiona is supremely relieved to observe that Mickey appears to be handling the talk of his newly minted husband having sex with other people remarkably well. Especially considering Milkovich standards for jealousy-induced homicide. 

“Yeah, it was that bad. I mean, would you be into that?” Ian asks Fiona. Fiona considers it for a moment. 

“Doesn’t seem too bad. More like kinda meh?” Ian rolls his eyes, disbelieving. 

“He washed his mouth with soap after,” Lip leans over and stage-whispers to Fiona, who snorts out a mouthful of beer. 

“Geez, I didn’t think you’d be such a fuckin’ pussy about it,” Mickey scoffs, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, like you’ve ever gone down on a woman before!” Ian retorts. Carl is watching the exchange with rapt attention. Lip looks as though it’s dawning on him that he may have opened a can of worms that he wasn’t prepared for. 

“Fuck no! The fuck would I do that for?” 

“Classy,” Lip mutters. Fiona kicks him under the table. 

“Oh, and I’m sure you’d be thrilled to swallow a hot load from some dude, Casanova?” Mickey taunts. Lip looks at him for a moment, as if assessing whether Mickey is still just joking or if he’s a second from taking a swing. 

“I’d be a perfect gentleman,” he replies. Mickey pulls a face, but thankfully doesn’t push the issue. 

“Christ,” Ian groans. “Now can we change the subject?” Lip clears his throat and manages to wipe the shit-eating grin off of his face. 

“Five grand,” Fiona states. “How close can we get, right now?” Everyone’s eyebrows furrow in tandem as they perform some mental math. Fiona suspects that they can probably wrangle up more from the couch cushions than from bank accounts at the moment. So much for squirrel funds when you’re talking to a teenage boy, a new father, and a couple of felons. 

“I could do probably a couple grand,” she says, reluctantly. Her new job in Atlanta is mostly doing office management and wrangling coddled interns for a hair over minimum wage. But she knows she’s on the cusp of breaking through. Her boss is eating up her rags to riches, slums of Chicago to property owning business lady story, and Fiona knows she just needs to play the long game a little longer before she can weasel into the land of MBA motherfuckers and make some real cash. She needs a financial safety net, but she’s never, ever been truly able to resist the siren call of a family emergency. She’s been home less than an hour and her life in Atlanta already feels like something she dreamed. 

“I get my paycheck tomorrow,” Carl supplies, but they all know that taps him out at a few hundred. 

“I’ve been asking Brad for any specialty gigs, but it’s been pretty slow lately. I’m barely breaking even with the new rent,” Lip gripes. 

Fiona hasn’t had the heart to ask Ian about his job situation, but she’s pretty sure he hasn’t found anything permanent yet, judging from the stony look in his eyes. 

“Bears are playing the Packers this weekend. I could pick up the cash then if I stiff ‘em all,” Mickey offers casually. Lip looks incredulous. 

“Fuck, Mickey - you want everyone in this neighborhood to have a hit out on you? Thought having your own family after you would be enough.” Mickey throws up his hands dismissively. 

“Who gives a fuck? This neighborhood’s fulla drunken lowlifes anyway. Fat chance they’d be able to cap me if they tried.” 

“Okay, can we try and consider legal options first?” Fiona redirects. 

“How about a fake charity? Put out donation boxes at the Alibi for those kids with club feet?” Carl suggests. 

“What did I just say about legal, Carl?” 

“That’s like barely illegal!” Carl protests. 

“I can ask Geneva if we can use some of the donation funds for Debbie’s case. People will buy that it’s discrimination or some other bull,” Ian suggests, to which Mickey actually throws a his beer bottle cap at his head. 

“Fuck outta here, not that Heaven’s Gate shit again.” Fiona can’t help but nod in agreement. 

“Geneva can stay the fuck out of this family’s business. We don’t need to turn Debbie’s case into a national spectacle.” 

Ian knits his eyebrows together, but appears unsurprised by the unanimous rejection. 

“Fine,” he concedes, “So who else has a legit way to come up with the money?” 

Another heavy silence. Carl fills it by bringing another round of beers to the table.

“My cousins are moving some rocks next week. Could probably get in on it for a decent percent if we can help move it,” Mickey breaks the silence. 

“Nope!” 

“Hell no, not doing that shit ever again.” Fiona shivers, thinking about those giant bags of meth that had turned literally all of her siblings against her. Everyone at the table looks similarly haunted. 

“Legal, Mick,” Ian reminds. 

“I don’t see any of you do-gooders coming up with anything better!” Mickey complains. 

“Well, we could probably pawn some shit in the house. TV, small electronics? It’s gotta add up eventually,” Lip suggests, craning his neck around to survey the meager contents of their kitchen. 

“Debbie did have that credit card debt phase. Maybe she kept anything valuable?” Ian thinks aloud. 

“You really think we can come up with three grand by gutting this dump?” Fiona asks. “Not sure a glorified yard sale is going to cut it.” 

The family lets out a collective sigh. 

“Maybe not this place, but Terry’s might,” Mickey says. Everyone looks at him like he’d suggested they road trip to Vegas and rob the MGM Grand,  _ Ocean’s Eleven _ -style. 

“For the last time, Mickey, you can’t kill your dad,” Ian tells him, exasperated. 

“Did I miss something?” Fiona interjects. “Not that anyone be sorry to bury that Nazi. No offense,” she says to Mickey, who looks as though he couldn’t agree more with her sentiment. 

“Exactly! Just hear me out. Two birds, one stone here.” Ian opens his mouth to protest, but Mickey cuts him off. “A compromise. No killing. We just get him thrown back into the pen. Like a sting operation. Then we sell his shit. We can even sell the house.” 

Carl is already smiling a little too much for Fiona’s liking. She looks between Lip and Ian, who both seem to be struggling to shoot this idea down point blank. 

“We did try to set him up once before,” Lip says, looking at Ian. 

“You did?” Fiona and Mickey ask at the same time. Mickey looks all too pleased to hear this piece of information. Fiona once again marvels at just how fucked up her family’s universe is. 

“Didn’t work,” Ian states darkly. 

“Fucking amateurs,” Mickey taunts. 

“So what do we wanna pin him with?” Carl asks, getting that hungry look in his eye. 

“Could be anything,” Lip muses. “Possession, aggravated assault, hate crimes...” 

“Yeah - we get it, College,” Mickey says. “I was thinking attempted murder.”

“How?” Carl asks, already way too on board. 

“Bound to happen sometime. He’s been planning to off me since the wedding. We’ll just get him caught this time. It should get him at least five years,” Mickey explains. 

“That’s a shit plan. You wanna get yourself killed?” Ian objects. 

“Hey, I can handle that dusty motherfucker just fine -” 

“Think you can be in the same room with him without trying to kill him, too? Wanna get yourself thrown back in prison together?” Ian challenges, to which Mickey hesitates. 

“Yeah. For Debbie,” Mickey concedes, quietly. “Signed the damn papers, didn’t I? Isn’t this shit part of being a Gallagher?” Ian looks like it physically hurts him not to smile at the mention of their recent marriage, but he manages to maintain his disapproving expression. 

Fiona catches Lip’s eye. He shakes his head, portraying that he’s feeling every bit as much at sea as Fiona is. She then realizes that everyone at the table has trained their eyes on her. 

Jesus. They want her to wade through this shitshow and make the final call here? 

“It’s late. Can we shelve the murder talk until tomorrow?” She states. Ian relaxes, but gives Mickey another warning look. 

“You mind taking Debbie’s room tonight?” He asks, and a chorus of chairs creaking indicates that this particular meeting is disbanded. 

“I’ll sleep anywhere horizontal,” Fiona replies, and breaks into a jaw-cracking yawn. 

They all say muted goodnights, and scatter towards their own corners for the evening. 

\-----

When Fiona finally cracks her eyes open the next morning, there is light streaming through the window. She can hear what sounds like a mild domestic from the house across the way, then a car backfire somewhere in the distance. Her inner city apartment in Atlanta is always loud with the sounds of late night bars and cars horns, but it can’t quite match the cacophony of dysfunction of this neighborhood. 

She runs a hand through her hair and braves checking her phone. She has a litany of notifications from Jade, a missed call from Vee, among others, but what sends her heart racing is the time. 11:30. She’d almost slept through to the afternoon. 

Fiona manages to hobble over to her duffle bag in the corner and pull out a change of clothes, then she tames her hair with her fingers and charges down the stairs. 

Immediately, she sees Liam sitting on the couch, watching TV. He turns around when he hears her thunderous footfalls on the stairway. His eyes light up and he darts over to meet her before she makes it to the last step. 

Still disoriented from just waking up, Fiona barely manages to hold in the wave of emotion that hits her when she pulls him into a long, tight hug. 

“Nobody woke me up last night when you came in,” he says, sadly. He’s already trying to play at her heartstrings. 

“Hi to you, too,” she chokes out. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” It’s Monday, she recalls. 

“Given the circumstances, I elected to skip,” he announces sagely. Fiona gives a wet laugh. 

“I’ll allow it.” 

“There’s coffee,” Liam says, and pulls her into the kitchen just in time to catch Ian stumbling down the back stairs. His eyes are still half-mast, and he’s clearly just woken up, as well. 

“Morning,” he mumbles in their direction, and goes for the coffee. He pours a second one and hands it to Fiona. 

“Lip at work?” Fiona asks. The house is much quieter than last night. Always a foreboding sign. Ian and Liam nod. 

“Vee brought bagels. She said you’re on her shit list for not stopping in last night,” Liam announces evenly. Fiona considers facing her litany of unanswered messages, but elects to inhale a bagel instead. She’s a bad friend. 

“You seen Mickey this morning?” Ian asks Liam. 

“Yeah. He and Carl left together about an hour ago. Said they had to run an errand.” 

Immediately, Fiona’s bite of bagel tastes like sawdust in her mouth. Ian shoots her a panicked look. He drops his coffee mug and digs his phone out of his back pocket. 

“Shit. Those fuckers,” Fiona grits out. 

“What?” Liam is looking between the two of them with furrowed brows. Ian’s face is white as he listens to his phone go to voicemail. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Ian mutters, already dialing again. Just as Fiona is anxiously trying to think of a way to explain the situation to Liam, her phone rings.

It’s Carl. She picks it up immediately, and wildly beckons for Ian to come over and listen in. 

“Carl Gallagher, you better not have done something stupid,” Fiona hisses. 

_ “Uh, is Ian there? _ ” Carl asks. He sounds shaken. Fiona’s heart drops. 

“Yep, he’s right here listening.” Ian looks like he’s one second away from throwing something. 

_ “Oh fuck.” _

“Carl,” Fiona yells, “What fucking happened?” 

_ “Okay - good news! Nobody’s dead! _ ” Ian shoots a look that is smack in the middle of supremely relieved and nonplussed. “Nobody’s dead” is a low bar to clear, even around here. 

_ “Hang on, I gotta get out of here - be back in five!”  _ Carl sounds like he’s jogging on the other end, then he hangs up. 

“Would someone please explain what’s going on?” Liam asks. Ian starts pacing around the kitchen like a caged tiger, furiously typing at his phone. 

Fiona sits down across from Liam and manages to give the most PG-13 version of the story, even though Liam has already developed a thousand yard stare that makes her wonder why she even bothers trying to sanitize their mess. 

Thankfully, it’s only a few minutes before Carl bursts in through the back door, panting and sweating. 

Fiona stands up from the kitchen counter and goes over to inspect him for bullet holes. 

“I’m fine - they got Terry!” Carl announces. 

“What?” Fiona looks over at Ian, who seems dumbstruck. “How?” 

“Me and Mickey caught him at the gun club. I tipped off a couple of cops to come in plainclothes. Took like two seconds for Terry to pull a gun on Mickey, then it got messy.” 

“Messy how?” Ian’s about to pop a vein in his forehead. 

“Fight broke out, and Terry got a couple shots off-” -Ian breathes in sharply- “ and totally missed! Then they took him down and booked him. But one of the cops musta recognized Mickey. So they arrested him, too. Sorry, man,” Carl says to Ian, looking down at the floor. “I think they said it was a parole violation or something, but I had to split before one of Terry’s Aryan Nation buddies came for me.” 

Ian looks like he got hit over the head with a bat. 

“Hey, Ian, sit down for a second,” Fiona commands, and pushes him onto a stool. 

“Not even a fucking week and he’s back in the joint. I’m gonna murder him.” Fiona rubs up and down his arm, feeling useless with a side of royally pissed off. 

“Hey, Ian?” Carl asks, uncharacteristically timid. “Mickey left a voice memo for you, in case things went to shit.” He passes Ian his phone. Ian scrubs his face once and then takes it. He stalks out onto the porch to listen. 

Fiona, Carl and Liam unabashedly attempt to eavesdrop. After a tense minute, Ian throws the door open, stormy-eyed. 

“I’m going over to the Milkovich house. Apparently Mickey’s brothers are gonna find out about Terry soon and try and take their pick of the house. This better be fucking worth it.” 

“I’m going with you,” Fiona says, without hesitating. Ian looks for a split second as though he wants to protest, but she is fully aware that all of her brothers are powerless against her “ _ I used to clean your jizz-crusted underwear, I’m not about to take any of your shit” _ -face. 

Ian nods tightly, and Fiona goes to find some shoes and a coat. 

“Wait!” Calls Liam. Fiona comes back into the kitchen while slamming her heel into her boot. Liam is rooting around in the kitchen cabinet. 

“If you’re going over to the Milkovich house, you’ll probably need these,” he says, brandishing a couple of pairs of rubber gloves. Fiona smiles down at him. She wishes he wasn’t so wise to their fucked up world already, but she’s so proud of him. She smacks a kiss on the top of his head and takes the gloves. 

“Back in an hour,” she promises. 

“You better be,” Carl says darkly. 

\-----

Fiona has to suppress a shiver as they walk towards the Milkovich home. The yard is as littered with empty liquor bottles and various detritus as always, but someone has thankfully fixed the broken window in the front door. This house has been the backdrop for some of Fiona’s worst memories, and even before that everyone in the neighborhood knew to avoid it like the plague. She can’t even imagine what Ian must feel to be returning. His eyes are dark and there are worry lines in his forehead, but he’s been silent the entire walk over. 

Fiona looks at the far end of the Milkovich gate and sees a familiar figure standing against the wire. 

“Vee?” She calls. Veronica turns their way and Fiona immediately sprints over to throw her arms around her. 

“Hey, Fi.” 

“Hey, Vee. Sorry I didn’t call.” Fiona speaks into Vee’s neck. “What are you doing here?” Fiona says, looking her friend up and down compulsively. God, it’s good to see her. 

“Liam texted an SOS,” Vee explains, smiling. “I’ll kick your ass later for not returning my call.” 

“Oh my god. I love you,” Fiona breathes. 

“I know,” Vee smiles back, and then her expression darkens as she surveys the house. “But there’s not a chance I’m going in that crack den. I’ll be the lookout,” She unzips her coat and unbuttons her tight pink henley to reveal some cleavage for good measure. Fiona pulls her into another quick hug, then ushers Ian up the steps. 

Fiona’s heart is pounding somewhere near her throat as they creak open the door and step into the stale air of the entranceway. The house is dim, but thankfully empty as far as Fiona can see. 

“This way,” Ian whispers, making a practiced way through the hallway towards a cracked door in the back of the house. Fiona honestly doesn’t believe in ghost stories, but there’s something incredibly oppressive in the air around that door. Ian reaches out to pull on the doorknob and Fiona realizes that she’s holding her breath. 

Ian pushes at the door with a thump, but it doesn’t budge. He swears a bit under his breath. 

“Of course Terry locks his fucking door,” he mutters. Fiona swears, too, then fishes around in her back pocket for a stray bobby pin. 

“Move aside for a sec,” she commands, and jimmies her bobby pin in the lock like she remembers learning ages ago. After a few moments of unpracticed maneuvering, she lucks out and hears the mechanism release. As the door squeals open, she notices Ian giving her a thoroughly impressed look. 

“Where’d you learn that?” He asks. 

“Fuckin’ Jimmy,” she admits. 

“Say no more.” Ian creeps deeper into the dark, musty room. The walls are totally bare, but the floor is littered with beer cans, dirty clothes, and various bullet casings. There’s a messy, unmade bed in a corner next to a crooked dresser drawer. 

Ian makes a beeline for the closet door in the corner. 

“Why this room? This place is a total sty.” She kicks aside a suspiciously stained rag for emphasis. “Can’t imagine there’s anything worth more than a dollar in here.”

“Mickey said apparently his dad made a go-bag when he thought they were gonna have to skip town. He found out from Sandy that this is where he stashes it.”

Ian stands on his tiptoes and runs his hand over the dusty upper shelf. He apparently feels something, because he stretches up to reach in further and pulls out a nondescript canvas bag. Fiona gingerly makes her way across the floor to peer in, still mildly concerned that Terry placed live land mines in his flooring. 

Ian opens the bag. Inside are two shiny handguns, a couple of unmarked key fobs, and a wad of cash. 

“Hah,” he pulls the rubber band from the wad of cash and inspects the stack. It seems to be mostly hundreds, and there are quite a few bills there. 

Before they can celebrate hitting paydirt, they hear the sound of the front door creaking open again and heavy footfalls. 

“Shit!” Ian throws the cash back into the bag and they both bolt for the door. 

“Don’t shoot!” A familiar voice shouts from the end of the hall. 

“Lip?” Fiona calls. Lip appears from the end of the hall, smoking a cigarette and holding a couple of large garbage bags. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ian yells, relief evident in his voice. Fiona realizes she had been clutching at his bicep with a vice grip, so she lets it go. 

“You almost gave up a heart attack, asshole!” 

“Called off work,” Lip smirks. “Carl told me about the clusterfuck. Couldn’t miss an opportunity to gut Terry Milkovich’s white supremacist man cave.” Ian laughs darkly, and then holds up the roll of bills for his brother to see. 

“Excellent.” Lip extends one of the bags to Ian. “I heard he’s got some World War II shit that might pick up some cash.” 

A couple of hours and a half dozen drawers full of things that none of them can unsee later, Lip, Vee, and Fiona arrange their bounty to the back of Lip’s car. Ian runs back into the house at the last minute to lug out the flatscreen TV, and then they finally put that house in their rear-view. 

\----- 

Fiona really hasn’t missed driving into various holding facilities. It had been decided that Lip and Ian would handle paying the bail at the police department, then hit up the pawn shop, leaving Fiona to pick up Debbie at the holding facility. Honestly, Fiona isn’t sure she’s the best person for this job. She’d really hoped Debbie would be able to hold her shit together for even just one year without her around. She’s not sure she’ll be able to play Nice-Big-Sister. She wants to be Bad Cop. It’s been a long day. 

Still, when Debbie appears through the front door, flanked by surly guards and with heavily shadowed eyes, Fiona can’t help but remember how fucking shattered she’d felt when she went to jail. How utterly alone she was. 

When Debbie sees her leaning against the car door, her eyes glaze over with tears and Fiona doesn’t even have to think before she pulls her into an embrace. 

“You’re here!” Debbie says through tears. 

“Yep,” Fiona’s voice comes out flat against the sheer emotion she’s trying to keep at bay. 

“How’s Franny?” Debbie asks, eyes wild.

“She’s fine. Get in.” Fiona slides into the driver’s seat. 

“You’re in a lot of shit, here,” Fiona sighs as she pulls into drive. Debbie kicks at the doormat.

“It’s that cunt Julia, she totally set me up-” Debbie starts, but Fiona feels a flare of frustration that she can’t fight. 

“I don’t really wanna hear it, Debs,” she says, suddenly weary. “Not after the day I just had.” 

“Did something happen?” Debbie asks. Fiona pauses. She really doesn’t want to rehash any of it. It’s going to sound like a guilt trip no matter how she carefully she phrases it. 

“Mickey’s got himself thrown in jail,” she volunteers, at last. 

“Today?” Debbie cries. Fiona nods tightly. 

“Fuck.” 

“Yep.” 

“He’s been in the family for a week and he’s already a part of the Gallagher inmate revolving door,” Debbie mutters bitterly. Fiona snorts out a laugh, despite herself. 

“Everyone’s gonna be happy to see you. Let’s focus on that, yeah?” She suggests. 

Debbie nods. 

\---- 

It’s dusk when she and Debbie pull up to the house. Kev’s truck is pulled up in front, as well as Lip’s car. Fiona is torn between feeling exhausted and elated at the prospect of a full house. 

As soon as she and Debbie make it into the hall, chaos ensues. Franny, who had been watching TV with Liam and the twins, immediately shrieks when she sees her mom. 

“Mommy!” She squeals, and leaps into Debbie’s arms. The rest of the house’s occupants immediately catch wind of their arrival, and all flock in with a chorus of welcomes for Debbie, as though she’d been gone for months rather than days. When Fiona retreats from the welcoming committee, Vee meets her with a playfully raised eyebrow and holds up a handle of Smirnoff. 

Fiona mouths “bless you” and reaches into the cabinet for some glasses. Someone has thankfully had the foresight to pick up a couple buckets of chicken and enough french fries to feed an army. Fiona is just beginning to feel herself relax when she looks up and sees Mickey has materialized in the threshold of the back door. 

“Mickey - holy shit!” Fiona exclaims, half wondering if he’s a mirage. He’s sporting a shiner and a mild case of crazy eyes, but otherwise seems intact. 

“Hey,” he greets tightly, already scanning the house for Ian. 

“Ian!” Fiona calls. Ian spins around from where he and Lip are obviously heckling the hell out of Debbie. His eyes catch sight of his husband and all of the tension drains out of his shoulders. He makes it to the kitchen in about two steps and envelops Mickey into a bone-crushing hug. Fiona doesn’t know if it’s how fucking long the last twenty-four hours have been since her return, but she feels happy tears prick at the corner of her eyes. 

Ian pulls in Mickey for a quick but forceful kiss. His eyes are burning with an intensity that is completely different from the simmering worry and anger from earlier. Fiona feels her heart swell for them. It’s not everyday someone in this family catches a goddamn break. 

“Tell me you didn’t break out of jail, Mickey,” Ian finally pulls away long enough to inspect Mickey’s face. 

“Jesus, no! Fucking pigs just have it out for me. Couldn’t pin me with jack shit, just like we planned, huh Carl?” Mickey yells out at Carl, who grins appreciatively. 

“Damn straight!” 

“If you get sent back to jail ever again I’m gonna kill you myself,” Ian says through a grin. Mickey just throws an arm over his shoulder and sloppily kisses Ian on his jawline.

“That right, tough guy?” 

“Just in time for dinner,” Fiona muses to cut in on their PDA. “Dinner!” She shouts, and the crowd herds towards the kitchen table. 

“How was your first time in the slammer?” Mickey prods Debbie. She flips him off good-naturedly. 

With her entire family piled around the table, together and in one piece, Fiona can’t help but feel like they really might have gotten a win, after all. At least for tonight. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote all this simply because I wanted to see more of the whole family interacting together and planning some old-fashioned schemes. I am fully aware that nothing of this like will ever actually be on the show, but what is fanfic if not blatant wish-fulfillment? 
> 
> Again, I fell deep into this show very recently, so I'm just getting a feel for all of these characters and having a bit of fun.


End file.
